


The Sins of the Father

by NeuroWriter14



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Do not repost, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal is just a bit hornier, M/M, Mentions of Pedophiles, Past secrets come to light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: While in BSCHI, Will has plenty of time to think. To think about Hannibal and everything around him. And to think about why, just why, he couldn't tell what the meat was sooner. Will's soylent green moment is compounded by another fact.He's tasted that same meat before.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 52
Kudos: 341
Collections: Hannibal





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [your](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmage) fault.

In the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will had all the time in the world to think. Think about the world outside the three grey walls and metal bars. Think about the person who ultimately sent him here. Think about the betrayal he felt on the deepest level. Think about the fact that he never saw what was right in front of him until his brain was on fire and he could barely see or think straight. He would find himself staring at the same spot for hours, his eyes burning from how little he blinked, as he went back over every interaction he ever had with Hannibal Lecter, culminating in the very first time they had seen each other while bars separated them. 

Will could see it now. He could see the Ripper, the god come to earth to wreak havoc. Or maybe the devil who rose from below for the same purpose. He could see the monster bound in human flesh, hiding behind high cheekbones and amber eyes. He wasn’t surprised really if Hannibal Lecter was the devil. Lucifer was supposed to be beautiful before he fell, and Hannibal certainly was beautiful. 

Will tried to shake himself from the current train of thought that was running center track in his mind. He could often entertain more than one train at once, as he knew Hannibal could, but he certainly didn’t need the train that was occupying his mind to be the one that had occupied his mind quite often before the whole thing went off the rails. 

Hannibal’s physical and mental attributes had occupied his mind for some time, and Will had vehemently tried to push them down. He rarely ever let himself become close to anyone. 

He had only ever really been close with one person his whole life, as close as he could be to anyone anyway, and that was his father. But Hannibal and his father couldn’t be any more opposite to each other. 

But when he started to think about Hannibal, as he often did, he couldn’t ignore everything that had drawn him to Hannibal in the first place and the two nagging feelings in the back of his mind. One had been solved already. 

Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. 

But there was something else, something that nagged him endlessly as he paced around his cell. 

He pushed it down, returning to everything else about Hannibal, hoping that the one train would stay off to the side and not fall into the center track once more. He didn’t need to be reminded of the fact that he had come to trust Hannibal so much, that for a moment, he had wanted something more. He couldn’t dwell on the fact that he had felt something other than friendship with his psychiatrist, his seemingly serial killer psychiatrist. He couldn’t think about the fact that he had known before he really knew. 

He knew when he saw Sylvestri’s donor. He knew when he saw how easily Hannibal fell back into the role of a surgeon, his hand buried in a body and completely steady. There was no unease of being out of practice. There was no hesitation as he stepped into the ambulance, carefully assessing the scene and then taking it over for himself. There was nothing to indicate that Hannibal had ever stopped practicing surgery. And all of the Ripper’s kills had organs removed surgically. No. He knew when their eyes met with the ambulance. 

And he had gone to Hannibal with wine in hand. 

God, he had gone to him, wanting him. He had wanted him then. He didn’t know what he would have done had he not been saved by the party. He would have stayed, they would have had dinner. And Will would have had to confront forcefully the fact that he had most likely been-

He cut off that train of thought. 

He couldn’t think about Hannibal in terms of what could have happened or what did already happen. He had to think forward, think about what he knew, what he could do, and more importantly, how he was going to handle everything. 

What did he know? What was he certain about?

Will paced a familiar path over grey concrete floor, each step paired with a thought. 

He knew Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper. He knew Hannibal was the Copycat. He knew Hannibal had called the morning they went after Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and he was certain Abigail knew too. He knew Hannibal had killed Abigail. And at this point, he had killed Beverly as well. He knew that Hannibal was feeding his victims to people. People who were unknowingly cannibals at his table. He knew that the Ripper had just gone on a spree, and Hannibal had a dinner party. He knew that Abel Gideon was taken right out from under Chilton’s nose.

Frederick Chilton, who now believed Will about Hannibal, was one of only a few people he actually had on his side. Jack was starting to come around too, he could see it in the way he began to grow suspicious, not of Will, but of everything around them. 

He had lost Alana though. 

He had tried, desperately, to take his revenge on Hannibal. How could he not? Hannibal had betrayed him. Entered his mind, gained his trust, and then manipulated it and him for his own gain. He could still see the flashing lights, feel the needle, feel that damned tube in his throat as he tried desperately to swallow. Oh, he had tried his revenge by proxy. 

But he had lost Alana along the way. And nearly lost Jack too. 

But it must have been because Jack thought him not capable of doing such a thing without reason that the man had finally started to see Will’s side. 

Not that Will was feeling any sort of way for justice. 

He was hurt. He was angry. He was betrayed. He had trusted Hannibal more than anyone in his life. He had actually let someone roam around his mind, admitted his greatest fears, and was seen so clearly, so perfectly. He was turned inside out by a man who he had let do such a thing. Hannibal was the person he wanted to tell anything exciting to. When he kissed Alana, all he could think about was Hannibal and telling him. When Tobias Budge had come for him, he couldn’t help the worry that had boiled in his veins and the relief at seeing Hannibal alive. When he was scared and alone, accused of crimes he knew he didn’t commit, he had gone to Hannibal. Because Hannibal was safe. Hannibal had become his safe place. 

And he framed him anyway. 

Will thought about Tobias Budge now and how easily Hannibal had dispatched him. Oh, there was a struggle and evidence of it. But Budge had killed before. Killed and gutted and made instruments of his kills. And Hannibal was the one who lived. 

So many signs were right in their faces and no one had seen it. Not even Will.

Though he couldn’t be faulted entirely for his blindness. He had well and truly been sick. 

Encephalitis. 

Oh, Hannibal hadn’t caused it, but he certainly hadn’t helped it. Using it and other unorthodox treatments to try to probe Will in a different direction. A darker direction. One where he joined the killers in his own mind, embracing his darker impulses. 

Will could still feel the heat of Hannibal’s breath against his cheek as the other whispered to him, even encouraging him to embrace his darkest parts. 

Hannibal had played a game with him.

And Will started one right back. 

He beckoned and pushed and pulled, maneuvering Hannibal where he wanted him. Faux tears and whispered words about other killers. He even baited him with Abel Gideon, knowing the moment Gideon was placed next to him, Hannibal would want him. He played along with Hannibal’s framing of Frederick, knowing that it was he who Hannibal could pick to frame in his stead. He embraced his darker side, just to show Hannibal he could. And in hindsight, his need for revenge had served him beautifully. 

When, not if, he was released to the outside world, he could face Hannibal once more. 

And he would kill him. 

He had promised Hannibal a reckoning. He was willing to deliver. 

He just had to wait. 

And wait. 

And-

Footsteps echoed down the hall over concrete. Will’s lips twitched upward. 

He pulled himself from his thoughts, though one still circled around the back of his mind. 

How had no one noticed? How had no one tasted anything weird with the meat? How had he not noticed the strange taste?

He supposed he had to attribute it to the strange taste of meat he had grown up with. Will grew up poor, his father doing his best. He loved his father, though they couldn’t always connect. And his father wasn’t a bad person, in fact, he was probably one of the best people Will knew. If he believed in good or evil people that was. Beau Graham was a good person. He worked job after job, following them from city to city so he could feed them both. He had often brought home meat that didn’t quite taste right, and Will had always thought that it was because the meat was old, on the verge of spoiling. It was all they could afford. And when they couldn’t afford that, they would fish. Sometimes, it would be both. What Will assumed was their last few dollars would go to some terrible cut coupled with fish, a strange combination, for a meal just so they would have enough. 

Yes, Will reasoned. That was why he never noticed. That and the fact that his brain was on fire. He wasn’t his right self when dealing with Hannibal Lecter before. And quite frankly he wasn’t now. Or maybe he was. Maybe he was his rightest self, his truest self, now that he didn’t want to hide part of himself away. 

The monster in his gut curled as the footsteps drew closer, keys clinking just outside the bars that separated him from everyone else. 

“Graham,” The guard barked. “You’re free.” 

The next few hours were a blur. A fast, paced, people filled blur. It went from Chilton to Jack to the entire BAU, all three that were left, Jack included, to entering Hannibal Lecter’s mind, to his home where he was greeted by Alana — who confirmed his suspicions that he had driven her and Hannibal together— and finally his dogs.

The next day was no better as Frederick Chilton appeared, covered in blood and in desperate need of a shower. 

Will was right, of course, about Hannibal and his plan to frame Frederick. He knew certainly that Miriam Lass would likely play a part. Hannibal didn’t let her go out of the goodness of his heart. 

And then Jack appeared. His chasing of Frederick had given Will a chance to grab the one thing he really wanted, the gun in Jack’s SUV. 

He went to Hannibal’s house from there.

And there, he had waited. Waited for the psychiatrist to come home. 

He waited with a hung clasped in his hand, waiting. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he would do when he came face to face with Hannibal once more. He should probably kill him. Kill him and rid the world of the Chesapeake Ripper. It would be for justice, a righteous kill. 

But he didn’t want justice. This wasn’t about justice. 

This was about him and it was about Hannibal. 

Justice meant nothing, even if Hannibal had righted justice not once, but twice. He had, first, made certain that Will would have a mistrial. And what a sight that had been to see Hannibal appear on the stand in front of him. And when his testimony was thrown out, Hannibal killed the judge, displaying him with his heart and brains on the scales of justice. And then, even after Will’s attempted murder by proxy, Hannibal had freed him, using the guard that was on duty for Abel Gideon to do so. 

They were dancing around each other. 

Tonight they would crash. 

Hannibal knew he was there after he entered his house, making for his kitchen immediately. Will knew he would. The other didn’t even bother turning on the lights as he reached for the fridge, pausing to inhale. 

“Same aftershave,” Hannibal commented, turning and opening the fridge in the sale movement. “Too long in the bottle.” He smiled and it was oddly charming. Will’s stupid, ridiculous heart skipped a beat, even as his mind was aware enough to raise the gun. 

Hannibal’s smile dropped, his amber eyes focusing on the gun. 

He looked-

Strange. 

He wasn’t expecting the gun.

And even as they bantered, and it was well and truly banter, Will could see that Hannibal was experiencing something he wasn’t quite used to. 

Uncertainty. 

The fridge was still open behind him and the moon shone through the kitchen, illuminating the other man. 

“How would killing me make you feel?” Hannibal asked. 

“Righteous,” Will practically growled, stepping forward. 

And Hannibal flinched. He actually flinched, stepping back against the fridge and turning his head. He supposed Hannibal wasn’t used to fear as he turned away, waiting for what he must have thought would be the ringing of Will’s gun. 

He should kill him. 

He should. 

He should be done with it. 

Why hadn’t he noticed the strange taste before? 

Will cataloged the other’s face, seeing fear wash over it as he held his body taught. 

What was Will missing?

He was missing something. 

Why wasn’t Hannibal fighting back? 

And why for the love of God, had he not noticed the taste of the meat that he could see staring at him from inside that goddamned open fridge? 

What was he missing?

Too many things clicked into place at once. 

Oh. 

Oh.

_ Oh no.  _


	2. Chapter 2

Beaumont "Beau" Graham liked to think himself a good person. But really, what was good? And what was evil? Was he a good person for going to extreme lengths to protect and take care of his son? Or was he a bad person?

These were the thoughts that ran around his brain as he worked on the engine of his newest boat.

This would be a good commission, rich people had more money so he could afford to charge higher prices without losing a customer. This was just a fishing boat, nothing high end. But this family owned a yacht and if he did well on this, he could have a chance at that. And that would pay him even more. It was easier to work in high-end circles once he finished one. And then he would make the rounds of all the wealthy families in the area and then he and Will would have to move on to the next. Living was expensive, and it was even more expensive if you were poor. Making ends meet was not an easy task.

Often people thought it was Beau's fault, but in truth, it wasn't. He had grown up in a well-off family, not wealthy but they had enough to make ends meet and have some extra. But after Beau's mother died, his father spiraled. And then he died not long after and Beau was left with nothing. He dropped out of college to find menial labor just to make ends meet. He thought he had it made there for a while: a steady job at a boatyard, a beautiful fiancée, and a son on the way. And then things spiraled from there. He was laid off and his wife left him. But without having gone to and finished university, he couldn't find a job that paid more than fixing boats. And he was left with a child to feed, not just himself anymore. 

Will was a fantastic child. Bright ocean colored eyes and a sharp personality that put even the college students to shame. He could see things that no one else could, even at five years old, when his mother left. 

But Beau remembered one morning when his heartache was particularly bad. Will was a child, nearly six, but even at that age, he hated physical contact. Yet here came his son, curls bouncing with every step as he shuffled through the door. His lip was chewed raw and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. Beau could see the thoughts churning as his son walked from the door to the bed and crawled in next to him.

"You'll be ok, Dad." 

Will was a good boy, a sweet boy. But there was something else behind those vibrant eyes. Will saw too much and he fought with himself. Beau never wanted to push him, never wanted to force him to lean one way or the other. He never commented and the darkness, or the way his bright eyes flashed with something far too dangerous for a child. 

Will was nine now and far ahead of his classmates. He was incredibly intelligent, so much so that he should have been ahead a grade or two. But the two of them were always moving and it made it harder for teachers to see Will for who he really was. His son saw so much of the world. 

But he was blind to one person, and one person only.

Beau. 

He didn't know if the blindness was willful or if he truly was blind to the ways of his father. Beau preferred the latter. He preferred that Will remained unaware of what he did in order to feed them. 

The first time was when Will was six years old. They were low on money, so low in fact that everything they had went into utilities and they had nothing left for food. Will was old enough that he could teach him how to fish, but he couldn't go alone and he still had to be watched at all times. He had managed to coax a neighbor into watching Will while he tried to figure out just where their dinner would come from that night. He couldn't go out fishing while he worked and he couldn't be in two places at once. While he wished there was enough food for them both, he would have given anything for dinner for just Will. 

He could live with skipping a meal or two. 

But Will was just a child. He would rather die than see his child suffer. 

It was a happy chance that he stumbled upon a meal. At first, he was hesitant. What person would stoop to such lows? What father would do such a thing?

But it was food, and he couldn't risk being picky. Not now. Not with his son's life on the line. 

So, he did what he had to do. 

The next time, Will was almost seven. Beau was stiffed on commission and they were at risk of not eating for a week until he could go fishing again. Will was always so understanding, never asking for anything. Even food. Instead, he would just nod his head in understanding and then go about his homework. He didn't speak much, but Beau didn't need him to speak to know what his son was thinking. But he would never ask his son to go hungry. He would never risk it. 

So, it happened again. 

And again a few months later. 

They moved from town to town, city to city, up and down the Mississippi. Will went with him, not that he had much of a choice. But it truly did feel as though his son was following him from place to place, not being dragged along behind him as most children would be. They were distant from each other. Beau, for how much he loved his son, couldn't quite relate to him. Not that he didn't try. He wanted to desperately. But Will was just a little bit different and constantly being the new kid in school didn't help him to break that mindset of his own. He knew, of course, that his father loved him, but even that wasn't enough to bridge the gap, though small, between them. But Will was always alone in some form because there was one thing that Beau could never quite relate to.

His mind. 

He wanted to. Desperately. 

He wanted to understand why the school counselors and psychiatrists took such an interest in him. Why they saw him as a lab specimen. He wanted to know what it was like for Will who saw too much all the time. Will hated psychiatrists. He found his way into other people's minds without trying, so he hated it even more when someone tried to enter his. So, Beau kept his distance, never trying to prod to the point of uncomfortable for Will. 

The third time, they were in a small town called Hannibal in Missouri. The other side of the river gave way to Illinois. People would sometimes store their boats along the river and come and go as they pleased, taking small cruises for themselves. And the more they cruised, the more money Beau made. 

Except they always cruised in the summer. 

It was winter when they were there. 

He had found one boat, one in the whole town, which he was hired to repair. Oh, some people still did repairs in the winter months, and now and then he could find someone who wanted a tune-up before boating season started, but finding money in the winter was hard. And it was even harder to find work for a big company doing the work he did. He would have to head for the East Coast for that, and something about it made Beau hesitate. So, he stuck to what he knew. 

And what he knew was that once again, they were low on money for food. He still didn't want Will going out on his own and fishing. So, he did what he had to. 

The fourth time was only a few weeks prior. And he knew with a strange amount of certainty that he would have to do it again. 

Even though he had a commission, and it would likely be a great one, he was only paid a little upfront. The rest he would be paid after he fixed this boat. 

And all of his money had gone into paying utilities. 

They had some fish, but even Will, who rarely ever complained, was growing tired of fish. Beau was too quite honestly. 

The sun started to dip low in the sky and Beau sighed. He would have to come back to this boat tomorrow. Will would be home from school and while he had given him a little more freedom, he didn't want Will home for too long without him. When he was a teenager, and not nearly as cherubic as he was now, Beau might let up the leash a little. He told himself he would be like this if Will were slightly different. But while Will saw too much, Beau saw just the right amount as a parent. He saw the looks in people's eyes. 

So, he packed up his tools for the night and put them in the back of his truck. His poor truck had been his since he was a teenager, a hand-me-down from his father. It was running on its last legs and had been repaired more times than Beau could count. But it still worked for now, and that's what mattered. He locked up the shed where the boat was stored with the key the owner had lent him while he worked on the boat and was careful to make sure that the property was locked up behind him before he left. 

The night air was already growing colder. Winter was near. And winter meant that he would more than likely have to do this again sometime soon. 

Beau maneuvered the truck onto the street easily, leaving the wealthier part of town and going into the lower middle class and poor part. Every town had a division like this and it was staggering if one hadn't seen it before. But Beau had seen it so much that watching the houses shift from grandiose to shoddy wasn't a shock for him. 

He probably shouldn't have been using his truck as he looked, but it was chilly. Walking would have been easier, especially if anyone saw and remembered his truck. But no one ever saw. And no one ever remembered. 

He was about to give up when he turned onto his own street. 

He and Will were renting a house. It was two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen that was also the living room. The windows were cracked and drafty and the front door stuck if it wasn't closed right. He and Will learned that the hard way, finding out that the door practically had to be lifted off its hinges to open it. But it was a roof and they were never short on blankets somehow. On the coldest nights, Will would crawl into his bed, even at nine. He supposed no one was too old to try to fight off the heat. 

But when he turned onto the street, something was different than before. Something wasn't quite right. 

Will probably would have picked up on it immediately. 

But Beau didn't. Not right away anyway. 

That was until he neared the house. The house that had Will inside. 

Alone.

But someone was standing across the street, watching him through the window. 

The man was hidden under a hoody and a baseball cap, but Beau knew that form was masculine. Mostly by how he stood. His legs were about a mile apart. 

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. 

He always knew that people were the worst sometimes. For every good person in the world, there was a terrible one too. 

Well, he thought as he picked up a hammer from the tool kit in the front seat, pedophiles weren't people anyway. 

An hour later, he returned home with a pound of meat and a strange feeling that he had done as much wrong as he did right. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad. It was neutral. He wasn't a bad person, was he?

"Hi, Dad." Will greeted. He was buried in a flannel that was two sizes too big and his hair flew about twelve different directions. He had probably fallen asleep on the couch. Or maybe he had chased a stray through the streets trying to catch them. Will had a soft spot for strays and Beau couldn't help but think it was because that was how he saw the two of them. They were strays, wandering for a home. "What's for dinner?"

Will peeked at the meat Beau had wrapped tightly and was holding under one arm. 

Beau looked down at the meat, trying to figure out exactly what he would say. 

"Pig," He answered eventually. "We're having pork for dinner." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a town in Missouri named Hannibal.


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal wasn't a stranger to fear, but it was an emotion he didn't experience often. The last time he was afraid, truly afraid, was in his childhood. At least, when it came to fear for himself. He had experienced a twinge of fear for someone else once, for Will, but that fear was quickly overshadowed by fierce and unyielding anger. That anger hadn't died down until after Hannibal's opponent at the time was dead and Will walked through the door of his office, alive and well. 

Now, though, he was afraid. Afraid because the monster he had torn from its chains was in front of him and very angry. Hannibal was staring down the business end of a gun, the safety off and the hammer pulled back. All it would take was the squeeze of a finger and his life would be gone. All his well-laid plans would vanish because of the whims of the cruel and revenge-filled monster standing in the dark kitchen with him. Those plans though had immediately changed when Will entered his life, to begin with. He had always had a plan in mind, things set in motion for when the FBI inevitably turned his way. And then the beautiful being across from him appeared. 

Will Graham was the one person he could never truly predict, just as he never predicted Will's appearance in his life. And the fact that he had fallen hopelessly and obsessively in love with him. He knew he was in love with Will after Tobias Budge, and spending a little over an hour thinking Will was dead. He couldn't restrain the joy and adoration he felt once he saw Will was alive once more. It was still rather reluctantly, and mostly out of self-preservation, that Will took his place in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Yet he had freed Will still, even after the other had tried to kill him. And here he was. 

And he was angry. Betrayed. Hurt. 

But there was something else too that Hannibal could see out of the corner of his eye. It was a strange lack of noise that forced his eyes open. 

He had felt fear before, but never to the same extent as when Will lunged, gun at the ready. 

And yet, Will stayed in the exact same position, staring not at Hannibal, but over his shoulder. 

His finger wasn't on the trigger, there was no indication other than fierceness in his eyes, that at all betrayed his intent to kill Hannibal. 

Hannibal turned his head to look at the other, evaluating him as Will continued to stare over his shoulder. 

He was beautiful, even at his most cruel. Will was beautiful no matter what. His mind, his pain, his physique. Everything about him was beautiful to Hannibal. And he was no less the vengeful god now, standing in the dark. His hair was longer, shaggier. But his eyes were clearer than they had ever been in Hannibal's presence. That clarity had started in BSHCI, and it was all the more evident now. 

Hannibal wanted to worship him. He wanted to worship this cruel, vengeful, beautiful god who held his life in his hands. 

Hannibal lunged, taking Will by surprise. 

He grasped Will's hand, pulling it and the gun to the side as he used that same leverage to drag the other forward. Will's ocean-colored eyes focused on him as Hannibal drew their bodies together. This was impulsive. It was dumb, stupid. It was ridiculous. It was-

The best split-second decision he ever made as his lips crashed into Will's. Will was frozen for a moment, but that didn't stop Hannibal's other hand from lifting and wrapping around the back of the other's neck. His fingers tangled in shaggy, curly hair as the taste of Will, what he could taste anyway, danced across his tongue. Will's hand with the gun and Hannibal's wrapped around his wrist were extended at their sides. 

And the other had a choice. 

He could tear free from Hannibal's grasp and kill him. He could tear free and leave. Or he could stay. He could stay with Hannibal and everything Hannibal was pushing into the one-sided kiss. Just how much he wanted to worship him, how much he adored him, his obsession that left him aching and alone while Will was away. He heard a click come from the hand that held the gun and a loud clatter. 

And then it was Will lunging. Hannibal's back collided with the refrigerator door, pushing it shut as Will backed him into it. Will returned his kiss, fiercely and harshly. Hannibal could feel the depth of Will's feelings of betrayal as his teeth sunk into Hannibal's lip, drawing blood. He could taste metal on the other's tongue as their kiss deepened. There was nothing tender about it. Nothing calm or relaxed. And definitely, not lacking in emotion. 

In fact, there were too many and they were threatening to choke Hannibal. Or perhaps that was Will as his other hand came to Hannibal's throat. 

He didn't squeeze though, only held him in place. Hannibal took his chance to reciprocate, dragging his teeth along Will's bottom lip and drawing blood. The tastes, his blood, Will's blood, Will himself; mixed on his tongue as their hands extended next to them shifted positions, fingers locking together before his hand was pushed against the cool metal of the refrigerator door, Will pinning him in place. 

Their kiss continued, neither parting for longer than it took to take a breath before they were back on each other again. 

He couldn't tell what thoughts were running around that beautiful mind, what exactly had been shining behind those ocean eyes, but he did know that Will was still thinking and thinking quite a bit. And so was he. 

Mostly, he couldn't help but think about this. The fact that this could have been their life well before this. His only major regret in life was locking Will away, away from him. And he couldn't have that, not again. Having Will, here in his arms, was by far the most addictive drug he ever knew. And having Will ripped away again would be the worst punishment. He didn't want Will to leave, even after Will had tried to kill him. Even after Will had found him here in the dark and brought a gun too. He didn't want this, this beautiful, vengeful god to leave him. 

He wanted to worship him. He wanted to love him. He wanted Will in every possible way. 

Their fingers flexed where they were intertwined and before he knew it, he was being dragged to the floor. 

The other only let go of his hand long enough to pull Hannibal's jacket free from him and that was what Hannibal found himself laid out on as Will pressed him to the floor of his kitchen. He couldn't help but think this somewhat sacrilegious, to be in his domain and yet not the one in control. It was obvious that Will had all the control, that his life and very near figure were dictated by the man above him. Will shrugged off his own jacket, not that either needed it. His whole house was heated, but especially the floors of his kitchen. He wasn't expecting though, that Will would maneuver the both of them so Will's jacket joined Hannibal's, a layer between his body and the floor. 

Will was back on him again in seconds, all teeth and tongue. 

He reminded Hannibal of something more animal than man, and that didn't stop when a noise outside drew their attention. 

Will's head shot upward, glaring at the entrance to the kitchen. Hannibal had locked the door behind him and no one else had a key. That didn't mean someone couldn't enter, as Will often found his way into Hannibal's house without an invitation, as he had tonight. But the person who was probably nearing the front door was Alana and Hannibal doubted that she would pick the lock. But that didn't mean that Will wasn't glaring and nearly growing, reminding Hannibal once more of an animal. Except this was an animal protecting its mate. 

He wasn't certain which though, the monster or the man, who was protective over the body under it. 

The doorbell rang and Will tensed even more. But Hannibal made no move to open it. He made no move to free himself from the weight of the other. Though Will wasn't fully on top of him, he could feel the other's body and wished even more that he would let go. That he would embrace the very things he had taunted Hannibal with only moments before. How beautiful he was when he was teetering on the edge, and how much more beautiful he would be if he just took that final step. 

"Hannibal?" Alana's muffled voice called from the door. "Are you in there?" 

He was certain Will would snarl. Or maybe even leave. 

But he didn't do either. Instead, he stayed where he was, hovering above Hannibal, the muscles in his body flexing. After a moment, when the silence stretched like a languid cat, Will bent, pressing himself against Hannibal fully and nudging his head to the side. He turned his head, baring his neck to the other. And Will bit. 

His teeth sunk into Hannibal's neck, enough that he knew the other drew blood. But not enough to cause damage. There would be no flesh or muscle taken when Will withdrew his teeth, no arteries punctured and torn. This wasn't meant to cause damage, Hannibal knew as he wrapped his hand around the back of Will's head, holding him in place. This was marking. Claiming. 

There was no doubt in Hannibal's mind that when Will pulled away, and eventually left after whatever was happening or would happen between them, that the other would see Hannibal as belonging to him. He was Will's, in all but name at this point. 

And the other wasn't done. 

His shirt didn't survive Will's onslaught, buttons flying into the metal of the refrigerator. 

Hannibal wanted him. He wanted this wild, possessive creature. 

"Look at me," He whispered.

Will's brilliant eyes shot to his, gleaming in the darkness. "Is this what you wanted?" He asked, blood still visible on his teeth as he ground down, bringing both their attentions to hard and untouched cocks. 

"You," Hannibal whispered back, honestly. "You are what I wanted. What I want." 

"You betrayed me." The other whispered, their lips brushing together. 

"I know." He followed as Will pulled away, their lips staying close. "Forgive me." 

It was a request as much as it was a question and he knew Will would see it. 

"No." 

He grasped the other's face, the first time he had reached for him since Will drove them to the ground. Will's eyes turned to the scar on his wrist, and then to his other hand which held an identical scar. 

"Forgive me," Hannibal whispered again, drawing Will back to him. What would he do if Will said no? If he truly said no. 

"Did you mean it?" Will asked. "Do you want me? Is that what you wanted? The whole time?" 

"You," Hannibal confirmed. "All of you." 

This time, Will did snarl as he kissed Hannibal again. Their clothes didn't survive his onslaught. Will grasped his hands and pinned them to the floor above him with one of his own. Will's other hand found its way between Hannibal's lips and it didn't take him longer than a second to figure out what the other wanted. It seemed he wasn't willing to move far enough away to even grab the olive oil. He wanted Hannibal here and now and he didn't want anything between them. He wetted Will's fingers, taking care to make sure his saliva was well spread. Will probed what should have been too far, his fingers brushing against the back of Hannibal's mouth and down his throat, but Hannibal didn't react. 

Eventually, Will pulled his hand away and replaced it with his lips. Hannibal wanted to draw him closer, to feel him, but his hands were stuck above his head. And he willingly submitted. 

He had submitted to Will long before this. And he wasn't going to stop now. 

Will's finger traced over his rim before slowly pushing inside him and Hannibal's eyelids fluttered for a moment. He had thought, once, about what it would be like to be with Will in this way. He would have been content without it. He didn't need anything physical between them. But he also wasn't going to say no to something they both wanted. And he knew Will wanted it. He could see it, just as he could see everything else. 

Will wasn't wearing his mask. Not now. 

And now it was Hannibal's turn to make a choice. He could lower his mask too, expose himself to Will in more ways than he was currently. Or he could guard himself. He wondered, partially, if this was a trick. Some way to draw him closer so that he would let his guard down. But Will hadn't been expecting his kiss. And truthfully, neither had Hannibal. All he knew at that moment was how much he wanted to worship Will. 

So, he let it down. 

Will's eyes flitted back up to his face after he added another finger, checking likely for signs of pain. 

But Hannibal knew the moment Will noticed his guard had dropped as well. 

He was careful in his preparation of Hannibal, making certain he was stretched and ready but had avoided Hannibal's prostate meticulously. The only time he stuttered was now when their eyes met again. 

He leaned down, releasing Hannibal's wrists and pressing a rather tender kiss to his lips. 

And there he was. All of Will Graham. The cruel, the vicious, the possessive, the kind, the cunning, the brilliant. Everything he was folded against Hannibal as he lined himself up.

He pressed slowly at first, pushing into him little by little. And Hannibal ached. Not from physical pain, but from the very reality that he and Will were joining in this way. A way he never expected. 

Will moaned when he bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against Hannibal's ass. Hannibal was amazed. He was in love. He was obsessed beyond all reason. He was a penitent, come to the altar of his god and laid out at his feet. Will rocked his hips, pressing in and out of him before Hannibal felt his hips circle, grinding against intestinal walls and keeping Hannibal split open on his cock. Both moaned in tandem, Hannibal's back arching subconsciously while Will's eyes fluttered. 

Will dropped, pressing his body against Hannibal's. And he was rewarded with another opportunity, a way to taste Will even more. 

Will's collar bone was bared to him as their bodies rocked together and Hannibal's mouth watered. He craved Will. He hungered for him. His very nourishment was found in Will's body and his breath, every one of them filling Hannibal in a way nothing else ever could. He wrapped his arm around the other's back, pressing Will's shoulder closer, and sunk his teeth into welcoming flesh. Will moaned and shifted his hand under the back of Hannibal's head for him to pillow on. 

Will's blood danced over his tongue, but he knew that the act mirrored Will's own. He had claimed him. And he claimed Will in return. 

He wanted him. He needed him. And now that he had a taste, he could never let him go. 

He shifted his hand to twine his fingers with Will's, the arm that was under the back of his head. Their bodies rocked together, Will's brutal thrusting finding his prostate over and over. Their lips met again, and again. Every moan of his was swallowed by Will and vice versa. 

Will's free hand snaked between them, wrapping around his cock. 

Hannibal was grateful for Will's foresight, feeling his back shift against the jackets where it would have been scrapping against the tiled floor. Perhaps Will would have thought that somewhat ironic. Hannibal had practically skinned him when he exposed the monster within. A bitter irony to have done that physically. Yet Will didn't seem to want that. Hannibal was certain he would be punished in another way, he wasn't truly forgiven. But they had started down that path. 

And he was surprised it began this way. 

But that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying it.

Will found his prostate over and over, aiming for it. Aiming to make Hannibal's pleasure just slightly painful. And Hannibal would suffer at Will's touch. 

"Will, please." He couldn't stop himself from begging. Begging for his pleasure, begging for Will's. 

Their lips crashed together and then Will's body tensed. 

His grip on Hannibal's cock became almost painful as he came, spilling inside Hannibal's body. And it was that, the pain, Will's pleasure; that drove him over as well. 

Will fell against him, and Hannibal dragged him closer. 

He was beautiful. And he was Hannibal's. 

After a moment, Will rolled off him and onto the floor. He was certain the floor steamed with the heat of Will's body when he touched it. Hannibal hadn't realized how warm Will was until the heat of his body vanished from on top of his own. 

He stared at the ceiling above him, still seeing Will's face hovering over his own. 

They were silent for a moment, both of them breathing heavily before Will, strangely started laughing. It was loud and boisterous and only the second time Hannibal had ever heard that sound. Their legs were tangled together below them, so Hannibal could feel just how much of Will's body was involved in his laugh. He turned his head, seeing the smile on his face, revealing teeth that were bared like fangs. 

"What are you thinking?" 

"I know why I didn't see who you were at first."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. The low light in the kitchen meant that Will wouldn't see it, but he would know either way. 

"You would have liked my dad." Hannibal was silent as he waited for the other to continue. "I wondered how no one figured out the taste. Why no one knew it was human. Why I didn't know."

Hannibal was almost about to protest, mostly out of the habit of self-preservation, but he stopped himself in time. There was no point in hiding, not now. Not when he bore a matching mark to Will, the evidence of their claim bloody and raised on each other's bodies. He thought for a moment, taking Will's two seemingly disconnected thoughts and finding where they paired, finding why Will would think it so hilarious.

And then it clicked. 

And Hannibal felt himself laughing too. 

"He called it pig." Will continued, a smile evident in his voice. "I remember one night he came home with this pound of flesh. I thought it was just rancid meat but it was all we could afford." 

"You're rather accepting of this," Hannibal observed. 

"I always thought the Ripper was beautiful. An artist whose medium was human flesh." Hannibal turned back toward Will again, seeing the god next to him looking back at him. "I was always accepting, even when I didn't want to be." 

"It wasn't the act that you didn't like," Hannibal said slowly. 

"No," Will answered. "That night I came with the wine, I came because I knew. And I wanted to know more." 

Hannibal propped himself up, moving closer to Will and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. "Let me spend the rest of my eternity making it up to you." 

Will's answering grin wasn't nice. "Oh, you will." 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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